What Might Have Happened
by mirrorballsymphony
Summary: What would have happened if the Watch hadn't gone after Angua, written from hints given by the Dis-organiser (or Dis-organizer, depending on where you're from). All characters belong to the genius that is Terry Pratchett.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Vimes stared at Carrot. Then he stared at the pile of papers in his desk, to see if any sense could be made there. A rustling, then a pair of eyes stared back. *

'Lad, you can't just expect the whole of the Watch to run after Angua.'

'Not all the Watch, sir.'

Vimes ignored him, because he knew he was right. 'And especially not into Klatch. You've seen what's been happening around - some family are firebombed by their neighbours just because they're "rag-'eads". Some building gets set alight by friendly Ankh-Morporkians, well, decent ones, who we'd see in the streets buying curry from Throat. Well, the not so bright ones, anyway.'

'Couldn't we say it was a kidnapping?'

'Politics, captain, politics. Imagine how it'd look if some Klatchian kidnapped an Ankh-Morporkian off the harbour.'

'She's from Uberwald, sir.'

'Doesn't matter to them. And anyway, Carrot, don't worry about her. Don't you know how hard it is to kill a werewolf, Carrot? They won't die at anything, the damn things.'

Immediately, Vimes regretted it. Carrot's jaw tensed, his fists clenched and a bolt of hatred struck through his peaceful blue eyes. Vimes felt himself leaning back out of the way, and flinched when Carrot unclipped something from his shirt and placed it on the square inch of desk not occupied by paperwork. Vimes leant over the piles to pick it up.

'What is this, captain?' All too late, he realised. 'Oh gods, it's a badge. For the regiment. Carrot, did you make this?'

Carrot looked proud of the crudely drawn foot stuck onto a pin. 'These, sir. Most of the troops have got one. I got Dibbler to make me some.'

'How much did they cost you?'

'Three dollars.'

'What, for one? You know what I've told you about Throat.'

'No, sir, for a hundred.'

Vimes stared at him. This man could do the impossible. 'You got Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler to give you a decent price?'

'He seemed quite cooperative. Especially after I'd just eaten one of his sausages.'

Vimes just stared at him. This man could move mountains if he wanted to. 'A whole sausage,' he said hoarsely.

'In a bun.'

'Inna bun,' Vimes repeated in disbelief. 'And you're alive.'

'I've eaten dwarf bread, sir, and that's forged. At least this doesn't break your teeth.'

'Ah, you got a good one then. I've known people to break their jaw from one of Throat Dibbler's sausages inna bun.' Vimes rustled some of the paperwork on his desk, narrowly avoiding a cluster of ferrets. 'And you're giving me a badge that you made yourself.'

Irony managed to slightly hammer it's way into Carrot's head. 'It's more...symbolic, sir. I quit, I'm leaving, that sort of thing.'

'So, you're actually going after Angua.'

'Of course, sir. She'd do the same for me.'

Oh gods, Vimes thought. He's putting his trust in a werewolf. Lovely girl, really bright and all, but still, a werewolf.

Then he remembered Angua's face when Carrot had been hurt in that fight in the Bunch of Grapes, how she had known even before anyone had told her. It was like she had been stabbed. And he remembered what Cheery had said about her deciding not to leave because of him, because he was the only thing she had. And he considered what a wolf crossed with a human really was...

'All right, Carrot. You can go.' He rummaged around for a sheet of paper, and gave up. 'I'll put you on compassionate leave or something.'

'You're not coming?'

Vimes sighed. 'Look, Carrot, I can't. She's your girlfriend, so you go after her. But me, I've got to stay, I've got Sybil, and the regiment, and the city-'

To his surprise, Carrot patted his arm. 'I understand, sir. Man of the city, to protect and serve. It's your duty.'

For a minute though, Vimes considered the real duty of a policeman. But he wasn't a copper any more, was he? He was a politician, a commander, a knight. Vetinari's terrier.

So, he absentmindedly nodded and reached out to grab the Dis-organiser. For a minute he felt like he was seeing double; his head span and he felt something tugging at the object in his hand. Then it passed. He slipped the imp into his pocket.

'All right, lad. You got money? Know how to get there?'

'I'm sure I can find someone to help.'

Vimes honestly wouldn't be surprised if he could. The boy had eaten one of Dibbler's sausages, for gods's sakes.

He stared silently at the door after Carrot had left, imagining that another Vimes, somewhere, had run after him. Then he slumped his head down onto the table.

*A common dare given to new recruits was to stick a hand into Vimes's floor and keep it in there for a whole minute. The smart ones were those who, instead of doing this, offered to pay for a round of drinks. The not so smart were bitten, or worse, felt the lightning sharp pain of one of Vimes's hands connecting with the top of their head for being 'so godsdamn stupid.' You could find anything in there, including, it was rumoured, a poor, stupid Assassin who had thought of it as a hiding place. He had to use a shovel.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Carrot wandered down to the harbour, whistling as he went. He wasn't too worried about Angua; it wasn't like she couldn't defend herself, and there was nothing worse than getting worked up in a state because of it. He knew she wouldn't be.

* * *

Angua lay in the hold with the silver collar burning into her skin. She wanted to change, but couldn't; she lay there as weak as a puppy.

She thought about Carrot.

He wouldn't be worrying, she was sure. He would know that she would be able to get out, he knew that she would be safe.

How wrong was he.

Mister Vimes, thought, he might be worried. He might be looking for her; Carrot would have gone back to him - it was the sensible thing to do, and Carrot knew that personal wasn't the same as important. Though she was sure he would come and get her.

The thought of Carrot stiffened her resolve, and she tried to scrabble against the silver collar, but to no avail.

She lay there, and waited.

* * *

'Oh ho, good sir, for where are you heading?'

Leonard of Quirm stood up from his last minute adjustments of the Boat, and faced a man with burning red hair and a startlingly keen expression.

'Can't tell you,' he muttered.

'Oh really?' said Carrot. 'Well, I suppose that's a shame.' A moment of recognition occurred. 'Hey, aren't you Leonard da Quirm? Genius inventor, creator of the Quick Drink Coffee machine?'

Leonard seemed to grow with pride, and puffed out his chest. 'Yes, that would be me. Not many people would have recognised me.'

'Oh, I'm very interested in that sort of thing,' gushed Carrot, new technology geek. 'I know all of your experiments, a greater inventor than B.S. Johnson, they say.'

Leonard tutted. 'A mere academic, compared to myself.' He peered closer. 'Are you a watchman?'

'Captain Carrot, at your service.' Carrot ripped off a salute and Leonard stepped back.

A watchman, eh? Vetinari had given him orders to collect two watchmen, and for the life of him he couldn't remember what their names were. They had disappeared somewhere between designing a device for perfectly preserving flower petals and a new type of blackjack.

Leonard thought this man would suffice for two watchmen. And he could easily pedal the Boat.

'We're going to Klatch,' he said. 'You can come with us.'

Carrot's face brightened. 'Oh, could I? That would be brilliant. It's just that I'm looking for my girlfriend, she's been kidnapped-'

Leonard of Quirm had no interest in other people's lives, so he switched off and started walking to the Boat, Carrot following. Dimly, he could hear the other man's voice, but was instead thinking about a type of rotatable fork perfect for scooping up spaghetti. Pencil lines and annotations scrawled across his mind.

* * *

Vimes stood up, brushed some of the dust from the paper off his breastplate, and walked out of the office down to the front desk. As soon as he saw Fred Colon looking worried his heart sank.

'What's up, Fred?' he asked as he walked over and put his arms on the desk.

Fred muttered something under his breath that sounded like 'bloody rag-'eads'.

'Didn't quite catch that, sarge.'

'Nothing, Commander.'

'What's been going on?' Vimes pulled a sheet towards him. 'Oh dear, Fred, another attack on the Klatchians? Down in Short Street? And this is nothing, is it, Fred. Well, it don't sound like nothing to me, sarge.'

Fred mumbled under his breath and pushed another sheet towards him.

'I hope that didn't contain any insults towards our dearest neighbours, Fred.' Vimes lifted the sheet of paper up towards his eyes and squinted. 'Who the hell is this from? Handwriting's illegible.'

Colon appeared to be puzzling over the word, and Vimes sighed. 'Un-readable, Fred.'

Colon's eyes widened in understanding, but he hushed his voice. 'It's Lord Rust's, sir.'

'Why are you whispering, Fred?'

Colon seemed to be wrestling with some great philosophical question. 'Well, sir, it's just...just what you do, sir. You don't talk about the leader. We never did with Vetinari, well, 'part from you, sir, but you were allowed to.'

'And you think Rust is the leader now?'

Colon considered the question, trying to decide whether he wanted to be offending his commander or his lord. He settled for the standard 'dunno, sir.'

'Well he's not, Fred. He's simply the person who's booted Vetinari out 'cause of the war.'

Whilst Colon tried to work out how this was any different from a leader, Vimes tried to work out the scrawl that was Rust's handwriting.

'Come to the... Palace, is that? for argue, no, urgent meeting regarding the impending, oh dear, catastrofee, Rust, really?' Vimes sighed. 'Something I've missed, Fred? Last time I checked we were just going to call in their mortgages.'

'It's...changed a bit, sir?'

'Rust playing the warmonger?'

Here was a word Fred knew. 'Seems like it, sir,' he whispered dramatically. 'Calling up all the boys to fight nobly against the tyrannical enemy, sir. Least,' he said quickly when he saw Vimes's face, 'that's what he's saying.'

'All the little angels,' Vimes murmured. He continued in a louder tone: 'And the people of the tyranny of Ankh-Morpork are believing this, are they?'* As he watched Colon's open, patriotic face crumple he reminded himself of the need to teach cynicism in schools.

Sighing, he pulled another sheaf of pages towards him. 'Did Carrot mention where he was going, Fred.'

'Said he was going to get Angua, sir.'

'And what was your opinion on his actions?'

'Thought it were a bit stupid to be honest, sir. Not like a wolf can't protect herself.'

Vimes shot a glare at Colon. 'You know Carrot wouldn't stand for you saying that.'

'He ain't here though, sir.'

'Not the point, Fred.' He picked up Rust's note, if it could be called that, and made to walk out the door. Just as he got there he turned back to Colon. 'I did the right thing, didn't I, Fred.'

'Huh?' Colon lifted his head from the sheet he was poring over.

'Not going.'

Again, Colon looked befuddled. Even considering going against Carrot did that to a person. 'I reckon you did right by the city, sir, but I think Carrot might have wanted you to help.'

'How d'you know that?'

'He told me, sir. Just before he left.'

'But I did the right thing?'

He knew he was pleading now, but was relieved when Colon answered. 'Yes sir, I reckon so.'

Nodding, he walked out of the door and up to the new Patrician's palace.

*In Ankh-Morpork the citizens were technically ruled by a tyrant. It was just that sometimes Vetinari couldn't be bothered to oppress the people, so let them oppress themselves. It was remarkable the number of people who chose to do this.


	3. Chapter 3

In hindsight, Carrot knew that he should have asked who the 'we' Leonard was referring to. This thought struck him as soon as he entered the Boat and saw the Patrician staring back at him.

Still, it was best to pretend that he was expecting it*.

'Ah, Captain Carrot,' Vetinari said, seeing straight through the wince. 'I see you weren't expecting me.'

Carrot sat down on a box inside the Boat and looked around. 'What is this?'

'I call it The Going-Under-The-Water-Safely device,' Leonard told him from the back of the vessel. 'Though I accept that the Boat is a bit easier.'

'And you're going to use it to explore the sea? Explore Leshp?'

Vetinari kept his face blank, but inwardly stared at Carrot**. He hadn't expected any watchman to be smart. That was why he prepared for Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs, where you needed to fly to a whole new world of understanding to deal with them. You would need an interpreter to understand some of their discussion.

Vetinari decided to tell the truth. Well, a truth. 'Yes, Captain, we're hoping to explore why Leshp has come up.' _And how it will go down._ 'Hopefully Leonard's design will help us do this safely. That is, if it doesn't explode.'

'I treat that as offensive, my lord,' Leonard informed him.

'I apologise Leonard. Because none of your designs have ever malfunctioned.' Vetinari cautiously looked at Carrot and Leonard's blank faces, and was reminded of Vimes's comment that Carrot wouldn't know sarcasm if it hit him round the face with an axe.

'So,' Carrot said brightly. 'This must be completely safe for any other ships.'

Vetinari eyed him suspiciously. You could take that statement in any number of ways but, knowing Carrot, it would be the least offensive one. 'Yes,' he said slowly. 'The pointed end really guarantees this.'

'And makes it streamlined as well,' Carrot enthused. 'It is a masterpiece.'

'Thank you, sir,' Leonard said as he entered the main part of the Boat. He turned to Vetinari. 'I've just started it, sir. We should be leaving any minute now.'

A few things clunked and groaned above them, and Vetinari winced, reminded of the exploding coffee.

Gently, they started to slide off the rails. Carrot went to the door and stepped out, pulling the Boat back onto the harbour.

'We are going to Klatch, aren't we, my lord? Only I need to rescue Angua.'

Vetinari glared at Leonard, who seemed oblivious. 'Why, what's happened to her?'

'She's been kidnapped by 71-hour Ahmed.'

'And you are staying calm?'

Carrot nodded. 'There's no point in panicking, my lord. She wouldn't want me to, and she can look after herself.'

'Then why are you following her, captain?'

'To catch the criminal. It's my duty as an officer.'

'But not Vimes's.'

'The commander isn't really an officer any more, my lord. He represents a bit more than that. The city, the government, you, sir. They call him Vetinari's terrier.'

Vetinari chuckled***. 'More like Vetinari's cat, captain. Will do what he wants.'

Carrot looked hurt. 'I wouldn't doubt his loyalty, my lord.'

'No, Carrot, just his manners. And you're really not worried about Angua?'

'Not really, sir. I know she's my girlfriend, but she wouldn't want me to worry.'

A good man, Vetinari decided. A man who does the right thing, not something that would benefit themselves. A man who knows that personal isn't the same as important. A man who's like a king.

'Captain, you can let us go. We're going to Klatch, we're just going to take a little detour around to Leshp in the meantime. It's in the way.'

Carrot let go and quickly jumped into the Boat. As it slid down the greased rails he shut the door just before they submerged. 'I'm glad to hear that, sir.'

'By the way, captain, you're pedalling.'

'What?'

Vetinari pointed to a pair of pedals on the floor of the boat. 'Pedalling, captain. To help us move.'

'Oh, of course sir.' No objections.

Vetinari leaned back on his seat/box and pulled out a book. Crossing his legs, he settled down to wait.

* * *

*Vimes had tried to teach Carrot what he called diplomacy and Carrot called lying. It hadn't worked. Carrot tended to wince whenever he told a slight white lie, and couldn't make his mouth even shape the words of a whopper. In the end Vimes had turned him over to Angua, telling her that if a werewolf couldn't teach him to lie, no one could. She hadn't even tried.

**Never trust anyone who can do this.

***Again, inwardly. You couldn't have people knowing what you were thinking.

* * *

Not-Commander-Any-More Vimes entered the Oblong Office and did a double take when instead of seeing the dark haired, rake thin figure of Vetinari he saw the rather overweight figure of Ronnie (he must insert that into the discussion) Rust, and various other portly gentlemen scattered around the room. He felt himself trying to expand to fit in.

'You called for me?'

Rust looked up from a piece of paper that Vimes was sure was an advertisement for Boffo's Joke Shop. 'Ah, yes, Mister Vimes. Do sit down.'

Vimes moved towards the chair. 'It's Lord, actually.'

'And the same for me, Vimes.'

Vimes sat down slowly. 'So, Rust,' he saw the man wince, 'what's this about?'

'The war, Vimes.'

'I wasn't aware there was one. Have I missed something?'

Rust sighed impatiently. 'We declared war on Klatch early on this morning.'

'We?'

'Me and my advisors.'

'Ah, you're already changing the government. Vetinari knew better than to have advisors.'

'We have found that tyranny has proved ineffective in the circumstances. Hence,' he gestured around him, 'the changes.'

'So, when does it begin? The war?'

'It already has.'

Vimes stood up and walked over to the window, mirroring Vetinari exactly. He could sense the other men wriggling uncomfortably in their chairs.

'I'm sorry, my lord, but I'm afraid I don't see any troops in our fair city. There is, however, a man pissing up against the wall of the Opera House, and Foul Ole Ron and his Smell are begging in at the end of Broad Way.' He squinted dramatically. 'That smoke could be an approaching army, but I seem to recall that that is the result of our fair citizens burning down an embassy.' He turned back to them. 'No troops, though. And none of ours.'

'Our troops are on boats headed to Klatch.'

Vimes squinted again. 'Oh, I see those tiny ships. Heading towards the massive fleet of Klatch.'

'Size doesn't matter.'

Vimes stifled a grin. 'I'm afraid, sir, that when it comes to fleets, size does matter. As it does with warships, and with weapons.' He could see a couple of the other men smiling behind what he was sure were glasses of Nig, Yksihw and Trop.

Rust still looked blank. 'I assure you, Vimes, that these troops are well equipped.'

'I should hope so.' A thought struck him. 'What are my troops going to do?'

Rust tried to look innocent, and gave up. 'Oh, the First of Foot. Well, they can guard the cities, can't they? They'll be used to that.'

Vimes narrowed his eyes. 'Well, I'm glad you've found some use for them,' he said sarcastically. 'I'm sure they'll benefit greatly from doing their job without payment.'

'It's a knight's job to pay his men.'

'It's a ruler's responsibility to pay employees of the government.'

Rust smiled nastily. 'But as you've said, Vimes, your officers are no longer members of the Watch. The Watch is null and void. At best, they are out of work soldiers.'

Vimes cursed inside his head. But Rust had already turned back to his advertisement. 'That's all, Vimes. Get back to work.'

One last shot. 'And what work would that be, sir?'

'Be quiet, Vimes.' Rust turned the sheet over to reveal a note from the Campaign for Equal Heights, then chucked it in a bin already over full with crunched up balls. 'Shut the door on the way out.'

Vimes bit his tongue and walked out of the room, making sure not to make eye contact with any other people in the room. He stormed out of the room and punched a wall, unhappy to see that Rust had filled most of the dents in. They were like old friends.

He returned to the Watch House and summoned all of his remaining officers into the canteen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Edited with the advice of OldStoneface (27/1/13) to make Vetinari sound more like... Vetinari.**

* * *

Of course, his officers weren't coppers anymore. Some of them had tried to remain the same, but a disease which Vimes had now called 'Troops' Fever' had overtaken them. He sighed when he realised that he had never seen their breastplates so shiny.

The mismatched group of… things stood before him, watching him expectantly.

'Right…' Vimes started to give them an order, then hesitated. 'We don't have any Klatchians here, do we?'

The officers all turned to look at the space where Carrot should be, and frowned. 'Carrot's gone somewhere,' Vimes told them. They turned to look at the other side of the room at Angua. 'With Corporal Angua.' Vimes gritted his teeth.

The troops turned to look back at him. 'Can't see any,' a brave voice volunteered from the back.

'Thank you, Lance-Constable. Anyone else see any?'

There was a collective murmur of 'nossir'.

'And who doesn't like the Klatchians?'

The watchmen frowned. This was some sort of test, they could see it in the steely glint of his eyes, but they weren't sure of the answer. As proof of the fact that watchmen weren't bred to be smart, two hands at the back were raised tentatively.

Vimes' face split into a grin, the grin that a shark makes before it is about to eat you whole. 'Would the two officers who so kindly…volunteered please come up to the front.'

There was a movement akin to the parting of the Red Sea as everyone in the room tried to shy away from the two officers in question, and the two people, not surprisingly humans*, stepped forwards. Vimes tried to recognise them.

'Lance-Constable Ping and… Fiddyment?'

The two unfortunates bowed their heads. 'So, why do you hate the Klatchians?' Vimes continued chirpily. It was the chirp (although they didn't know it) of a vulture.

''cos they're bastards.'

'And where does it say that?'

Fred Colon, who felt he should stick up for the underdogs here, stepped forwards. 'Says it on the front of Goriff's place.'

'And how have they spelt it?'

'B-A-R-S-T-U-R-D-S, I think.'

Vimes looked over to his left, where Angua usually stood, leaning against the wall and rolling her eyes. He felt a pang of guilt, but shook it away.

'And you believe everything you see written on the walls?'

He heard one of them mutter 'You told us to listen to the walls.'

He accepted this grudgingly, but without letting them know. 'And you agree with this, do you?'

The smarter of the two, Fiddyment, muttered a 'nossir' and stepped back into the crowd, which accepted him reluctantly. Ping stepped forwards. In Vimes' head the Idiot Alert rang.

'Yes, Lance-Constable?'

Ping's chest swelled with pride at being addressed by his superior officer. 'Well, sir, we've always been told that we're allowed our own opinions.'

'Yes, Lance-Constable?'

'So why can't we have the opinion that the Klatchians are, if you don't mind me saying so, bastards?'

Around the luckless Lance-Constable Ping the rest of the Sir Samuel Vimes' First of Foot turned their collars up and took a step backwards.

Vimes smiled. You could tell the constables from the lance-constables in the way that they stepped back even further. There was a crush in the back of the canteen.

'Because, _Lance-Constable_', Vimes said in a way that made Ping glad that there was no role that he could be demoted to**, 'There is a difference between having an opinion and being a bloody idiot.'

Ping finally looked straight at Vimes' expression, and saw the red hot anger looking back at him. He stepped back.

'Now then.' Vimes looked at his troops, and not one of them looked back. 'We've been tasked with protecting our fair and noble city against, as Lance-Constable Ping has termed them, the bastard Klatchians. According to Lord Rust we have officially declared war on Klatch, and are expecting an impending invasion at any time.

'This does not mean that the Klatchians here in Ankh-Morpork, the few that are left, are our enemies. I don't want any more fires at their embassies, or bombs in their houses, and despite our newly formed name we are still coppers. And coppers is coppers, despite their race or their species or their opinions,' a glare was directed to Ping, 'and citizens is citizens. If someone is doing something wrong, if you catch someone with a bomb in their hands aiming it at a family, then you arrest them. No matter what skin colour the family, or the offender, has. Is that clear?'

There was a muffled 'yessir'.

'You're still coppers, lads. Don't let yourself forget that.'

With a nod, he dismissed the troops from the canteen and watched Colon and Nobby come over. 'Yes, you two?'

'Well, you know about Carrot, sir?'

Vimes sighed. 'Yes, Nobby.'

'And you don't know where the Patrician is?'

'No, Nobby, I don't.'

'Well, sir,' Nobby fidgeted inside his uniform. 'It's just that we saw Carrot getting on a weird boat thingy down at the docks, and we saw the Patrician's man, you know Leonard of Quirm?'

'I heard rumours.'

'Well, he was there, and then Carrot got in and we saw the Patrician close the door, and they kinda went.'

'Went?'

'Under the sea.'

* * *

'Did you remember to put the cork in, Captain Carrot?'

'Yessir.' Carrot ripped off a salute.

Vetinari sighed. 'Thank you, captain,' he replied wearily, having been subjected to far too many of Captain Carrot's eye-wateringly precise salutes. He had always wondered why Vimes's eyes were so dazed after watching a few of them.

Carrot sat back down on the seat behind the pedals. 'Forward, ho?'

'Excuse me, captain?'

'Are we going to start moving again?'

Vetinari nodded, remembering dwarfs' misunderstanding of common phrases and the use of question marks. 'Yes, captain. Forward ho, as you say.'

Carrot started pedalling, and Vetinari heard the bubbles fly away from the Boat. He was sure that they shouldn't emit a smell of roses.

Vetinari was a practical man. He had remained in power because of this, and considered it one of his best characteristics. He didn't love anyone, and he didn't let himself hate many people, apart from mime artists, but he had never met anyone able to ignore his emotions entirely so that he could focus instead on the task ahead.

'Captain?'

'Yes, sir?'

'You and Corporal Angua…' Vetinari had never had to encroach upon this particular territory, so settled for euphemisms. 'You get on well?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And her being... morphologically gifted... doesn't bother you?'

Carrot looked very confused. 'A werewolf,' Vetinari translated.

Carrot looked at him, shocked. 'How did you know that? I didn't think anyone apart from the Watch knew that.'

'You are a member of the City Watch, Captain Carrot. I control the city. I find out items of information like this.'

Carrot answered him, but uncomfortably. 'No, sir, it doesn't really. I just let her get on with it.'

'And she's alright with that arrangement? Forgive me if I am wrong, but I was under the impression that couples generally discussed problems like this.'

'Seems to be fine, sir. We don't really talk about it.'

Vetinari lay back. 'Keep pedalling, Captain. I'm going to have a nap. Wake me up when we get under the island.'

*Racism wasn't generally a problem on a world where there were more species than skin colours. Black and white came together and ganged up on green, apart from Fred Colon, who ganged up on everybody; black, white, green, blue (in the case of Buggy Swires), apart from Nobby Nobbs, who was every colour under the suns.

**Although, technically, under Ankh-Morpork laws Samuel Vimes could create a new rank of officer, which would be 'Educational Officer'. He had never seen a person that needed this punishment before, but was now seriously considering the option.

**Reviews are always welcomed :) hope you're enjoying it so far**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi everyone, thanks for reviewing/favouriting etc. and please continue :D**

**Sorry that this is quite a short chapter, but I'll hopefully post another by the end of this week.**

**Enjoy :)**

Chapter 5

Angua lay on her side, panting with the effort of staying conscious. Every time that she tried to grapple with the silver collar it was like a knife stabbing through her.

No one came.

She licked the wooden plate - wooden - and lapped up a bit of the water to try and keep up her energy, but slumped back down again, listening dismally to the clink of the chains.

She heard the door swing open, and after a while footsteps could be dimly heard padding across the floor. She smelt cloves, and immediately slunk away from the corridor. The footsteps came closer to her.

'So, Miss Angua, you're still alive?'

She tried to bark at 71-Hour Ahmed, but only a whimper came out.

He knelt beside her. 'I know that you're a member of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, and to tell you the truth, I'm a… helpful citizen. So, because I know what fresh hell will await me if you die whilst in my custody, I think I'll help you.' Gently, he unclipped her collar.

Immediately, the pain abated, and she panted heavily. She looked up at him, and the wolf part of her that was asking 'Friend?' was quickly replaced by the human instinct to run away. Quickly.

But there was one thing to ask first. She barked at him, and, sensing what it meant, he turned away.

She changed. It was more uncomfortable after her exposure to silver, and felt like tiny needles were poking into her as fur changed into skin. As soon as she thought she was fully human she sat down on the floor and tried to curl herself up.

'You can look now,' she growled.

Ahmed turned and raised his eyebrows. Without saying a word, he tossed her a bag. 'Turn away, please,' she demanded, pulling the tunic over her head.

When he had turned back she was standing right in front of him. He stepped backwards - a werewolf having a bad hair day could do that to a person. He put his hands in the air.

'Wait.' He gestured to the door at the back of the cabin. 'They'll be down here soon.'

She glared at him. 'Before you answer this question, bear in mind that I could rip your jugular out if needs must.' He nodded. 'Now, _why are you helping me_?'

'First, answer me this. How aren't you dead? That was pure silver?'

'Self-restraint. Now, if you just tried to kill a werewolf, why are you trying to save me?'

'Because, believe it or not, I'm Klatch's answer to law-enforcement.'

Angua's eyes widened. '_You_? _You_!_ You're_ a copper?'

'Not in the way that Sam Vimes would have you believe, but yes, I'm a policeman.'

Angua glared at him again. 'That's sir to you.'

Footsteps could be heard behind them, quickly running down the stairs. Ahmed pointed to the door. 'Go.'

Her feet turned before she realised what she was doing, and she ran out the door before asking him where it led to.

* * *

'E-P-H-E-B-E,' Leonard of Quirm was muttering.

'No names or places, remember,' Vetinari informed him. 'Those are the rules of,' he picked up a piece of paper, 'Make Words With Letters That Have All Been Mixed Up Game.'

'How about Jumble?' Carrot asked from the pedals.

'I'm afraid that Leonard cannot make that word with his letters, captain. He has an E, a P, an H, another E, a B, oh, another E and a Q.'

'No, sir, the name of the game. Make Words With Letters That Have All Been Mixed Up is a little bit lengthy.'

'I like it,' Leonard grumbled.

'Oh I'm sure you do, Leonard, but I'm just saying that if you wanted to make it more popular than a shorter name might be better. It might be able to fit on the box, for one thing.'

'Gentleman, gentleman,' Vetinari interrupted. 'I seem to have found a very good alternative.'

'To the name? Because it could be Fumble.'

'I'm afraid not, captain, because a: even myself cannot fix the conundrum of what to call this, and b: Fumble is already a game played by several of the clientele of the Pink PussyCat Club and the Blue Cat Club.*

Carrot looked confused. 'We wouldn't want any confusion now, would we?' Vetinari asked.

'And what does Fumble consist of, sir?'

'A dark room, apparently. I've heard that blindfolds are more or less optional, though of course I haven't attempted to confirm this.'

Carrot's eyes brightened. 'You mean like Blind-Man's-Crush**, sir? Only we played that at the Watch's Hogswatch do, last year. Nobby won, because there were holes in the blindfold.'

Vetinari tried, without success, to erase that particular image from his mind. 'You mean that all of the contestants were able to see where they were going? I think, captain, that that defeats the objective of the game.'

'No sir, but when the blindfold got to him holes appeared in it. Mister Vimes said it was evidence of initiative or certain noxious substances.' Carrot's brow furrowed. 'Which I didn't really understand.'

Vetinari shook his head. 'Anyway, gentleman, I meant a solution to Leonard's dilemma. If you added the P-E-E to here you could have Peel. And that would then land you on the "Three Times Ye Value Of Thee Letter" which would gain you eleven points.'

Carrot and Leonard considered the board, and Leonard put down his letters, still fuming that people didn't like his name.

'Excellent,' said Vetinari. 'Your turn, Captain Carrot.'

*Because unnatural acts were only natural.

** Like Blind Man's Buff, but running. It was a favourite with policemen and was often used in training sessions, though the introduction of trolls into the Watch had put a stop to that tradition.


	6. Chapter 6

As Vimes walked out of the Palace after his latest blood-curdling meeting with Rust, he became aware of someone watching the back of his neck. In the crowded streets of Ankh-Morpork he couldn't pick out the individual footsteps of the follower.

He heard a cough next to him.

MISTER VIMES?

Vimes turned round to confront a skeleton. 'Fancy seeing you here,' he growled.

I SEE EVERYONE AT SOME TIME OR ANOTHER. BUT, TO MORE PRESSING MATTERS. Death pointed to an alleyway. GO DOWN THERE.

'Is this allowed?'

DON'T ASK ME. I DON'T MAKE THE RULES. NOW _GO_, MISTER VIMES.

However disconcerted Vimes was by meeting Death again, he knew enough to duck into an alleyway of Brewer Street. Spinning round, he delivered a sharp knee to the followers stomach, and grinned as the man doubled up.

He ran down the alleyway, jumping over crates, ducking under washing lines, but his grin faded as he heard the follower's lumbering footsteps coming after him, accompanied by wheezing and gasping.

He ran out of the alleyway into the body of another attacker.

The beast acted, and delivered a punch to the man's nose, which knocked him backwards into the street. For good measure, Vimes kneed him in the unmentionables, then stood back and regarded the man.

The man made a run for it, but was stopped by the Vimes Elbow and an arm to the throat.

'Who sent you?' Vimes hissed.

'Please,' the Klatchian whimpered.

Vimes pressed harder. 'Who?' he repeated loudly.

'The prince,' the man gasped.

'Which bloody one?'

'Cadram. Cadram, I'm telling you the truth!'

'I don't doubt it. And now,' Vimes said, releasing his grip slightly, 'you're coming with me.'

The man started to breathe again. 'Where?'

Vimes considered it for a moment. 'Tell you what, mate, I'll be kind to you. I'll take you back to the Yard, where you can have a nice cup of tea and a night in the cells, instead of taking you up to the Assassin's Guild, where I've heard they have some fairly inventive punishments. You see that?' he asked, pointing up at the weathervane of the Assassin's Guild.

The man nodded.

'And you see that figure hanging up?'

Another nod.

'Well, that could have been you, sonny Jim.' Vimes patted him on the back. 'And have you heard of the Tanty?'

'No.'

'Let's just say they aren't too fond of Klatchians at the moment. So count your blessings, son, that you've only got to encounter Corporal Nobbs.'

The man was wise enough not to question further about Nobby. He knew the sort.

As Vimes handcuffed him, the Klatchian started to look around.

'Yeah, your mate's buggered off somewhere. Just wait 'til the assassins get hold of him.

Meekly, the man held his arms behind his back. Vimes walked him through the streets.

As they reached Pseudopolis Yard, Vimes handed the prisoner over to Cheery. 'Put him in the cells, Cheery, on charges of terminal idiocy and being stupid when it's been a long day and I've had enough.'

Cheery nodded. She was familiar with the charges. 'Tonight's curry night, what do you want?'

'I'm going home, Cheery, but you can give a korma to this one here. Make it especially Morporkian.'

'Extra swede and raisins?'

'You've got it. Oh, make him a cuppa while you're at it. I promised him one.'

With a grateful look at Vimes, the would-be assassin went meekly off to the cells. Vimes sighed, and continued with the day.

It was not about to get any better.

* * *

The ships appeared.

Slowly, in the distance, a crowd of white specks appeared in the smog. Foul Ole Ron was sitting on the pier, dangling his feet in the water*, so was the one who saw them first. He stared at the horizon until the faint outlines of sails manifested themselves.

With a sigh, he stood up and wandered down to the Watch House.

* * *

*Although a bath would be unacceptable.

* * *

Fred Colon didn't often feel sorry for dwarfs, but had to feel a pang of sympathy for Cheery Littlebottom as she slowly climbed the stairs up to the Commander's office.

A few seconds after the door had closed, the shouts could be heard.

'Invading my bloody city! With their fancy ships and bloody humungous fleet! Invading my city?'

Fred heard Cheery mutter something.

'And where's Vetinari, eh? This is my bloody city 'coz I'm the only damned stupid person to look after it!'

Another mutter.

'And I don't care if Lord Rust is officially in charge, what's he doin' for the bloody citizens? All he wants is war! And now he's got it, and is he happy? Oh no, because he might lose a reputation. The public dying, oh, that doesn't matter. Damages, deaths, oh that doesn't matter to him, does it? 'Cos he's never had to fight, it's all...' Vimes took a breath. '...Show and pomposity and parading around in shiny armour and...'

At this point, Cheery ran out of the room and rushed down the stairs, ducking under the front desk. The loud thump was enough to tell them why.

After a minute, Cheery raised her head. 'I didn't get to tell him that he's got an appointment with Rust.'

'Gimme a minute.' Colon ripped a sheet of paper out of his notepad and scrawled a note on it. Tentatively, he climbed up the stairs and slipped it under Vimes's door.

A moment later, Vimes appeared and walked down the stairs. He pointed at the sheet of paper.

'What does this say?' he asked quietly.

Colon gulped. 'Meetin', sir.'

'Sergeant Colon, in this case meet is spelt with a double e. Not an e and an a.'

'Sorry, sir.'

'And this one?'

Cheery could see Colon swallowing. 'Patrician.'

'Pat-ree-shun, Colon?'

'It's phonetic, sir.'

'I bet it is,' Vimes commented under his breath. 'So, I have an appointment - double p, Colon - with Lord Rust at the Patrician's palace in half an hour.' He narrowed his eyes. 'Colon, when was this sent?'

'About three-quarters of an hour ago.'

'And you didn't think to tell me?'

'Well, sir,' Cheery interrupted, 'you were throwing chairs at doors.'

'Good point, Constable Littlebottom, if bordering on the bloody cheeky. I'll be seeing you, then.'

Colon and Cheery held their breath nervously as he walked out. As soon as the door shut they breathed out in relief.

'Thank gods he's gone.'

Colon slumped on the table. 'Where's Carrot when you need 'im?'

'Searching for Angua, apparently.'*

*Dwarfs don't understand rhetorical questions. Or irony. Or sarcasm.

Cheery tried to lighten Colon's mood. 'Fancy figgins?'

Colon raised his head at the prospect of food. 'Sure. You're going out, though.'

'Fine, fine. Any petty cash?'

Colon walked over to the mantlepiece and shook the tin, despite knowing the answer. 'Nope.'

'I'll get the money off Nobby later.' She jangled her pockets. 'Pay day yesterday, and I'm paying for food for you,' she told him. 'I'd better get paid for this.'

'Alright, alright. I'll give it to you tomorrow, shortarse.'

'Alright, fat git.'

Colon shook his head a few times, unused to a dwarf answering him back. 'Oi!' he shouted as she walked out of the door. 'Oi!'

'See ya, Colon.'

Fred sighed and slumped back onto the desk.

* * *

Not-Commander-Anymore-And-Definitely-Not-Happy-Now Vimes shifted in his uncomfortable chair.

'So the fleet has been sighted,' Rust declared. 'It is currently five miles away, give or take five miles for accuracy.'

'So it could be on our doorstep?' Vimes asked.

Rust glared at him. 'Of course not. We would have noticed.'

'Would you?'

Rust raised an eyebrow in a poor imitation of Vetinari. 'Are you doubting my authority, Vimes?'

'No, just your knowledge of the city, Rust.'

'I am an Ankh-Morpork boy, I'll have you know.'

'No, you're an Ankh boy. There's a difference.' Vimes wandered over to the window. 'So, these ships are fairly close, whatever the measurement.'

'Yes.'

'And our soldiers are on standby, I presume?'

Lord Rust looked uncomfortable. 'In a way, Mister Vimes.'

Vimes span round. 'In what way, exactly.'

'Well, they're on duty in Klatch.'

Vimes processed this information in his head. 'So, the Klatchians are in Ankh-Morpork, but the Ankh-Morporkians are in Klatch?'

'Yes, Commander.'

'Gods, this is like the worst designed tea party ever.'

Rust snickered. 'I doubt you can call a war a tea party, Vimes.'

'Really? Each family at the other families house, each bickering amongst themselves because they were sure they told the others where to go, silly, petty little disagreements that scar the groups for life? That sounds like a tea party to me.'


End file.
